Damnation
by Destiny's Creator
Summary: “Fearful indeed the suspicion—but more fearful the doom! It may be asserted, without hesitation, that no event is so terribly well adapted to inspire the supremeness of bodily and of mental distress, as is burial before death.”
1. Beginning

"Damnation"

By Destiny's Creator

Disclaimer:  I don't own these characters; so indeed, forever am I cursed … but don't worry, this story isn't about that.  References made from "The Premature Burial" by Edgar Allen Poe, which should explain a lot actually… ^-^

Rating: PG-13, I think because… just because…

Genre: This story includes Angst/Horror, definitely one of mine… but I did through in some bits of fluffy romancing for flavor!  @o@

Warning:  Contains traces of Ryou/Bakura yaoi.  Descriptive scenes of torture, death, destruction, and revenge mentioned, though not necessarily in that order, and not quite being what you may think (this _is _a repercussion ofBakura's past after all, but entirely made up with no relevance to the actual plot of YuGiOh!).  There may be slightly 'strong' language used, but being as I myself am not a frequent curser, Bakura is going to have to deal with being only mediocre at it (and not very creative to say the least).  And no, they don't actually _do _anything, as I was trying my best to keep the characters _in _character (our poor virgin Ryou… O-o)  

Summary:  

_"Fearful indeed the suspicion—but more fearful the doom!_

_It may be asserted, without hesitation, that no event is so terribly well adapted to inspire the supremeness of bodily and of mental distress, as is burial before death."_

General: 

­ Bakura, Yami (dark), Tomb Robber, Spirit of the Sennen (Millennium) Ring, Mou hitori no boku (my other half), all refer to Yami Bakura.

­ Ryou, Hikari (light), Yadounshi (my host, my property), all in reference to Ryou (last name) Bakura (first name)...  I know it's so _confusing_, but that's just the way it is…  (Can you tell I'm American?)

­ /Hikari to Yami/

­ //Yami to Hikari//

­ _Extractions from "The Premature Burial"_

­ ((author's notes))__

Note:  I gave Yami Bakura his own body; there is actually a way to achieve this by the standards of the Ancient Egyptians, (I did my research!  Then again so did many people also… well, my way's original though to my knowledge) but it's not relevant to this story; maybe I'll include it some other time though...

In conclusion, I've already completed this but due to length; I will be posting it in three different sections during the next three days.  I apologize for any inconvenience caused but I believe this to be best...  (And maybe receive more reviews in turn for encouragement?)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Such evil cannot be undone…

Such innocence will not be left unprotected…"

-unknown (wallpaper)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_"There are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction.  _

_These the mere romanticist must eschew, if he do not wish to offend or to disgust.  _

_They are with propriety handled only when the severity and majesty of Truth sanctify and sustain them.  _

_We thrill with the most intense of "pleasurable pain"…  _

_But in these accounts it is the fact—it is the reality—it is the history which excites.  _

_As inventions, we should regard them with simple abhorrence."_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There exist misfortunes within this world that bring naught but damnation to the human spirit. 

These death sentences, considered morbidly corrupt according to existing righteous law, hold no justification for their occurrence. 

There are no rights to uphold, honor disregarded in the so-called service of 'justice'.  No liberties accounted for, and nothing ever gained by means of these horrendous hardships.  

Simply put, the suffering inflicted is meaningless, having neither purpose nor hope.

A purely undaunted and unchecked chaos ensues.  

That it is the individual who bears this agony, and not the mass as a whole, is the only blessing given... but this in itself is no console.  

These ordeals, which hereby and hereafter shall remain nameless, should never acquire a chance to resurface, regardless of circumstance or fate.  Reside they should in a captive silence throughout eternity, if only for mercy's sake alone.   

The Gods will neither accept nor provide a chance at redemption for the victims; even if the fault does not lie within them, no compassion is ever given.  With neither relief nor comfort offered, many chose to give in to an eternal misery.

Despite all this, no man should ever have to fight his battles twice, any more than a mortal should have to dwell for five thousand years of remembrance in the realm of shadows... 

Yet one does remain that lived to tell the tale… in a sense.  

He never actually _survived _mind you…

For him this tragedy symbolizes the ultimate trial of woe; terror vanquished his reason for living and sentenced him henceforth to desolation. 

This enslavement of the mind, as aforementioned, _has_ _no_ liable reason for existence, _should never_ have arisen to begin with…  

Nevertheless, to say that only one soul alone has come to know this suffering would adamantly be a lie… as another has yet to share in his grief.   

It pleases no one to admit this, nor should it; anyone _sane_ always refuses to acknowledge the upholding of reality…what must be will be.

Nevertheless, when destiny dictates, _all_ must face their worst fears.   

There exists within the world life-altering accounts both great and terrible; here told is one that even the Egyptian spirit inhabiting the Sennen Ring would not wish upon his worst enemy… much less, his other half. 

This is the story, forcibly relived through none other than Ryou Bakura, of how the Tomb Robber ultimately discovered darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Night could not help but revel within her newfound freedom, savoring in every ounce of unrestraint.  Finally, after a full day of waiting amongst the shadows, she was able to spread out vastly with neither limitations nor boundaries to her nearly absolute power. 

To touch everything, to caress the dreaming faces of mortals everywhere, and all while remaining hidden beneath the protective cloak darkness never ceased to provide.  She always covered herself, within the darkness, leaving others forbidden from ever knowing of her secret presence… evermore unaware and enabling her total sovereignty.   

She had seen many things within her existence, for most conspiring events went on during the after hours of the evening.  She had bore witness to terrible hate crimes as well passionate lovers and found she thoroughly enjoyed it all, though grudgingly admitted to having favorites. 

One must understand that no amount of passing time could ever cause the Night to forget; after all, the years had virtually no effect upon her.  As the ages fly by, Night alone remains unchanged...

Moreover, as soon as the children of darkness were returned to this world after nearly 5,000 years of imprisonment, she was the first there to greet them.  Although with feeling a slight remorse at the time, for the sons of Day's own light were with them as well.  

She had a terrible disliking of being anywhere close by her _own_ counterpart, so the displeasure at _their_ other halves was only natural.  She learned to tolerate the unwelcome presence though, never staying within their company for longer than necessary.

Tonight began no differently than any other when she had first peered in upon one of her revered.  The clouds in the sky were thick enough to obscure the moon and stars, providing no illumination whatsoever and pleasing the Night to no end; after all, she had no need for the light… growing stronger instead in its absence. 

She had been playing idly with the silver tresses of the Dark one, softly enough so as not to rouse the creature, when she first sensed a disturbance in the air, and instantaneously became aware of the other. 

Turning cautiously towards the door could indeed identify the silhouette to be the complement, for an almost ethereal glow surrounded the look-alike.  The boy himself was ignorant of it though, or of anything else right now for that matter, his wide eyes trained solely upon his darker half and his darkness alone.  

A sense of fear seemed to encompass the youth, coercing any of his other feelings into nonexistence.  He was trembling, hard, though apparently not from the cold, as the Night noticed the slightest sheen of sweat upon his brow.  He looked to be breathing heavily as well, giving reason to believe he was still nervously recovering from a nightmare.

Moreover, by the look on his face, a _deathly_ nightmare it had been!  

He took a hesitant step into the room, noticeably unsure of whether or not to proceed and causing most of the night to flee for sanctuary into the room's darkened corners.  Slightly annoyed at the intrusion, but curious nonetheless, the Night gave the dark a slight mental nudge before fully retreating to the safety of the shadows, anticipating the observance over what the light would do.  

After all, they _hated_ each other…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At first, there was no trace of movement from the tomb robber to indicate awareness, but slowly he shifted around a bit, and then finally blinked a couple of times to clear the remainder of slumber from his eyes.

Looking towards the doorway, he saw his light and became at once perplexed with the disruption of his, much needed, sleep.  Cold eyes narrowed in a glare, silently daring him to justify being awake at this ungodly hour.

Ryou gulped but found he could do no more than just stand there and gaze at his feet in uncertainty, his apprehension rooting him to the spot.

He knew dangerous did not even begin to describe his Yami when agitated, just as deadly terrifying could not possibly do him any justice when enraged, but he just _had _to know…

The fierceness intensified in Bakura's scowl before, all of a sudden, returning to nonexistent.

Bakura visibly stiffened at the emotion that arose from his Hikari in waves, not quite comprehending yet what was going on.  He was entirely too familiar with absolute fear, the installment usually being of his own doing, but _never_ before had he felt such searing currents from his other half… since he had first meet him, at least.  

Abruptly, he switched the lamp atop his bedside table on to get a better look.  Pale did not even come _close_ in comparison to his Hikari's face, ashen white was little better.  He looked as though he just came back from his own funeral…and was shivering to the point where his teeth chattered together noisily and uncontrolled. 

Eyes widening, he thought it best to await an explanation this once, and raised an impatient eyebrow at his smallish other half, expecting just that.   

Silence prevailed for a while after, interrupted only by Ryou's labored breathing and rapid heart rate sounding throughout the room.

At last, he seemed to collect himself enough for a cracked whisper to emerge from within him.  He sounded so uncertain of his broken world, and the feelings of his insecurity layered throughout the most imperative statement of either of their dismal lives.

"Bakura… you… you were buried… alive…" he breathed. 

It was not a question; it was a revelation…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_"To be buried while alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of these extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality.  _

_That it has frequently, very frequently, so fallen will scarcely be denied by those who think.  _

_The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague.  _

_Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?  _

_...  Attended with circumstances which go far to warrant the assertion that truth is, indeed, stranger than fiction."_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For many moments that followed Bakura forgot to breathe, he was entirely unsure whether his black heart had frozen within his chest.  

He seemed unable to form any coherent thoughts, he could neither feel nor act.  In fact, his entire body went into a temporarily stage of numbness at his light's words.  

His unbroken stare remained straight ahead, eyes abnormally enlarged and dazed, entranced with the torments of long dead reminiscence. 

_How could he have possibly known…?_  

For his part, Ryou just shook even harder at his Yami's reaction, using the doorway's frame to support the overbearing weight, his legs nearly giving out beneath him with sudden exhaustion.

Finally, when he could stand it no longer, he bit his lip in silent resolution, wondering if he even dared…  On the brink of collapsing though, he managed to gather whatever nerves remained in an attempt to bring his other back to the present. 

"B…Bakura…?" the question stuttered out rather weakly, and he did not know if he would be heard through his other's evident state of shock.  He was getting more and more anxious by the minute, frightened witless by the tomb robber's lack of response...  

Nothing scared Yami Bakura, _nothing_, and yet…  

When it became apparent, his other half was _not_ by any means going to reply, he tried again, desperately trying to strengthen his words this time.  After all, he did _not_ want to end up having to go over there and shake him to his senses, he would no doubt be slapped silly… but if this did not work, he would have no choice…

"Yami!" he practically shouted, a despairing plea; before flinching impulsively, quickly stumbling a few steps back for safety.   

The former thief started, looking up at him with disbelief... and horror... 

He quickly glanced away again, clenching his teeth with a hiss and tightening his grip on the sheets, knuckles whitening painfully, all the while taking in steadying gasps.  

Then, quite suddenly, all traces of previous devastation vanished.    

He may have been unnerved at first, but with a miraculous effort, Bakura was able to regain his composure in a matter of moments.  He quickly erected mental barriers between himself and his light; and his eyes, hard as the amber they resembled, fixed on Ryou grimly.  

He _was_ still stunned to say the least, but he did not seem irate somehow; dubious or perhaps disturbed is better fitting…and he had every right at being troubled by this.  After all, it is not everyday your other half waltzes through your room in the middle of the night and announces he's cleverly discovered your well-guarded past.

Ryou faltered at the rapidly changing emotions coming from his Yami and the suddenly blockaded link between them.  

He was still waiting for a verbal response.  

_Well_ beyond fear now he wondered, not for the first time, what had possessed him to come here.  He certainly should not have awakened the spirit of the Millennium Ring over a mere _dream_, no matter how chillingly vivid it had been… no matter how many scars—mental and physical—he gained from it…

He was wrong, oh yes, he was _very_ wrong to have come here in the first place, even over such a hellish nightmare…  He had no right after so long, none whatsoever, to cause his Yami such pain… to remind him of…

He slowly began to back away, to reverse his actions, and growing more and more petrified by the minute as he thought of it.  He shook his head in denial, trying to clear, trying his hardest to forget…

He did not know _how_ it was possible that he came to possess someone else's memories; all he really knew for sure was, what he had experienced within his dreams tonight, had been real, at one point or another, for _someone_.  

More likely than not that someone had been Bakura.  

Now, he couldn't even close his eyes without recalling torturous, blood-filled images that had been part of _his_ past… 

"Yadounshi," a somewhat irritated voice snapped at him, this time Ryou was the one that needed saving from his reveries.  Ryou hesitantly tested the link between them, finding it held annoyance and slight… worry...

He should leave, he _really_ should leave; he should just turn around, walk the other way, and go back to his room where he would try to forget everything… yes, that is exactly what he should do…

He wisely chose to evacuate the vicinity then… immediately…

"Come here." 

He wanted to cry. 

Swallowing at the command, he found he did not trust himself to look directly at his significant other, preferring instead to play with the Ring that forever hung about his neck. 

He _really_ should… 

"I said 'come here,'" the words were pronounced evenly, as though Ryou was simply too slow to grasp their full meaning, but there was also a harshness, and furthermore, a finality in his tone that brooked against all arguments. 

Consequently, the light tentatively took one-step closer to the bed, then two, and then another after that… not once bold enough to look up.  

The closer he came to the bed however, the closer he came to anxiety.  

He strained valiantly to prevent the tears that threatened to fall against his will, once or twice having to stop and collect himself by inhaling deep and measured breaths before continuing.

The process was a slow and tedious one though and he dreaded more than anything facing Bakura when he finally got there; never before had a room seemed so _large _to him.  It was as though he was on a procession to the gallows and, in many ways, that description fit perfectly.

Inevitably, after what seemed like hours, the foot of the bed appeared within view, next came the side where his Yami sat upright against the pillows.  

He came to an abrupt stop and waited, head bowed, discreetly steeling himself for what came subsequently.  Be it cruel words or blows for divulging his memories; he prepared for either. 

However, _neither_ came, which under normal circumstances would have been terribly confusing enough if not for the _other_ that occurred...  The surreal choose to happen in that moment instead, the unpredictable transpired, in turn successfully bringing about the beginning of his heart's confusion…

"Hikari, look at me," was the first demand given when he arrived, as was expected, but Ryou just shook his head in the negative.  There was absolutely no _way_ he would be able to face him after… after seeing what he had…he couldn't just…

A solitary teardrop trailed its way down his cheek, unnoticed until someone unexpectedly wiped it away. 

Suddenly two strong and very possessive arms, instead of striking him, wrapped tightly around his waist, enclosing him in an iron embrace that sanctioned against resistance.  

Slowly, so as not to alarm the smaller boy, the arms brought him to rest in the guardianship of a firm and decidedly bare chest.  

Startled, Ryou's throat sensibly chose that moment to go dry and, quite understandably, it took all his efforts not to squeal in surprise.

_What the...?_

_Bakura__ was hugging him!_  

This could _not_ be happening; this went beyond _impossibility_!  

His yami would _never _hug anyone and Ryou was sure he would hug even the pharaoh before himself… well maybe not the pharaoh… but it would be close nonetheless.

Bakura hated him!  Hated, hated, hated…

He stiffened in the embrace at first but eventually, somehow, relaxed, deciding he would enjoy this for what it was worth…

…and which, to him, that was everything.

The sheer power radiating off his incredibly smooth skin quite literally took his breath away, feelings almost overpowering as he closed his eyes and shivered.

After nearing the cold grasps of death as unwillingly as he had, the warmed flesh beneath him, the undeniable heat of life energy emitting from the tomb robber, all of this was welcomed, appreciated, and what's more eagerly yearned for.

He had anticipated a grip of ice from his Yami; never this... he could never ever have imagined this…

Also, the fact being that it _was_ Bakura where he found comfort actually made it that much more enjoyable somehow, no matter _how_ greatly he would pay for this endearment later… 

Somewhere in the back recesses of his mind, he fleetingly felt himself pulled onto the bed, further calming down in his Yami's grasp; everything else just seemed to leave him as his heavy breathing finally slowed and heartbeats returned to normal.  

Surprisingly, for the first time since his terrible dreams, he felt at peace. 

Bakura gently lowered his head until it rested atop Ryou's soft hair.  He hesitated a moment, rather unsure of how to proceed, until he settled on stroking the white tresses gently.

He was uncomfortable to say the least; being unaccustomed of having to act this way, it was simply not in his natural temperament to do so.

  
_That_ was an understatement.  

_Why was he doing this anyway?_  

He originally had acted without thinking and his mind now searched frantically for the answer.

Because his image was of a lesser importance now, paling in comparison to what he _must_ accomplish here.  

If a 'soothing presence' reassured his Hikari enough to speak of the ordeal, then he would reluctantly become so.  He knew Ryou was far too scared any other way to respond any other way, too terrified of him, and the rest of the world could go to hell in the mean time if they disagreed for all he cared.

What was essential now was the way the darkness seemed to be closing in around Ryou completely, surrounding his light.  He could see it clearly writhing, churning, and seeping into Ryou deeper, nearly threatening to consume him, to destroy him and this… _concerned_ him… yes, that was it... that was _all _this was… concern. 

Or perhaps a touch of fear that he too would turn…

One way or another he would _not_ let that happen.

Thus, the restless need to know what happened within his Hikari to create such a disturbance surpassed all else for the time being.  

Speaking quietly, not wanting to disturb the sudden calm that had settled around them, he asked what he knew to be crucial to Ryou's survival…

"How did you know?"  He kept his voice emotionless, hollow within his own ears, and revealing nothing of the impending danger.

For a time, his Hikari remained silent, contemplating on just how much to reveal…  

Ryou knew that he would _never_ willing hurt his Yami, no matter what he had done in the past, he was incapable of doing so, but he also understood that saying too little would only serve to upset him more.  

Bakura closed his eyes, grimacing slightly before he reopened them; he knew the reason for his light's indecision...he was, after all, the cause of it.  Ryou was no doubt confused, expecting little more than apathy from him, could he not see this case was different…

_This _was the one exception…  

Easily taking Ryou's chin into his own hand, he firmly lifted until large chocolate brown eyes met his own smoldering ones.  

"Please tell me," he urged quietly, earnestly, this time trying to keep the force from his words.  

For once, he had _no_ desire to frighten him further. 

That was all it took, the entreaty was Ryou's undoing, and he really did not want to keep to this to himself any longer; he burrowed into his Yami's chest with the slightest whimper, and then shakily began…


	2. Middle

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_"All was void, and black, and silent, and Nothing became the universe…_

_The unendurable oppression of the lungs—_

_The stifling fumes from the damp earth—_

_The clinging to the death garments—_

_The rigid embrace of the narrow house—_

_The blackness of the absolute Night—_

_The silence like a sea that overwhelms—_

_The unseen but palpable presence of the Conqueror Worm—_

_These things, with the thoughts of the air and grass above, _

_With memory of dear friends who would fly to save us if but informed of our fate, _

_And with consciousness that of this fate they can never be informed—_

_That our hopeless portion is that of the really dead—_

_These considerations, I say, carry into the heart, which still palpitates,_

_A degree of appalling and intolerable horror from which the most daring imagination must recoil."___

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blood, his own blood, seeped freely from the numerous wounds that marred his flesh.  The battle won, victory theirs, yet the cost had been great; and by the feel of it, he was soon to become an adverse addition to the toll. 

Darkness sought to overtake him; he fought it off with the last of his will.  However, will alone was not going to be enough to halt the unstoppable this time around.  

Pain, he was in so much pain, and there was no relief in sight.  No one tended to the dying, the many others surrounding him were just as weak as he was or already gone.  

Release, the shadows of his mind promised him that much.  

With a sigh, he closed his eyes for a decisive moment's rest, leaning back against the now red-stained desert sand.  Thoughtlessly, he convinced himself that his dying strength would return with the sunrise and shrugged off the pain in favor of rest.  

Carelessly, doubts relieved from his weary mind, he gave himself and his consciousness over to the all-consuming gloom with little to no hesitation.

He did not realize then that this would be his final moment of peace for nearly 5,000 years to come…  For his passage into the shadow realm, unfortunately, was not to be a painless one and held no assurance of _ever_ being able for return to the light…

When he did endeavor to open his eyes again, he immediately found himself wishing them remained closed… for an eternity.  

Indeed, he wished to have never ventured to expose them past the battlefield, or well before then even…  

He would come to desire never having laid eyes upon the world in the first place… to curse the day he was born…

Cold, dark, and damp, any were words depicting the chamber well enough yet at the same time hardly even began to describe it... how about eternal darkness, eternal cold, and eternal dankness instead?   

Not a flicker of light broke through; a seal made to be strong, sturdy, and flawless, not a crack in its protection.  Its design was specifically created to separate the chamber from the outside world, for longer than time without end if necessary.  The vault itself remained completely unblemished despite the testimonial eras of use…

Slowly, still not quite comprehending as to where he was or what was going on, the robber sat up; or tried to at least…  There seemed to be something extremely heavy on his chest, weighing him down.  He reached up with his hands

…and felt the chill of ice-cold flesh.

Bodies, he realized instantaneously, he was touching _dead_ bodies…

Lifeless, bloody, deceased, and decaying bodies all piled and heaped carelessly atop of him, utterly suffocating...  He found he could not move from under the stack, but he could not die here either…

A tomb…he was in a tomb…

…oh yes, the irony of it all…

He tried writhing out from beneath them, pushing and shoving the corpses at odd angles, using furious convulsions of his own body in desperate attempts to disentangle himself.  

He continued to scratch and claw at the limp forms in panic, blood and flesh collecting between his fingernails, as though they were going to wake up and remove themselves of their own accord if he dealt out enough pain; somewhere he knew his actions resembled like that of a lunatic's, but he didn't care…  

He was willing to do just about anything to get away.  

Finally, after working for what felt like hours, and certainly the most tormented hours of his existence, he surfaced and freed himself. 

Still panicked, he scuttled away further in frantic alarm, only to hit what felt like a thick wall of stone against his back.  

There he leaned, gasping for breath and choking on the putrid decomposition; where he had previously received a knife wound worsened tenfold in pain, from agonizing to excruciating, at the sudden release of mountainous pressure.  The blood-encrusted gash in his side reopened by now, he was sure of it.

As soon as the first mouthful of air reached him, he was able to taste for himself the unbearable stench of death and decay in the atmosphere surrounding him; naturally, the place reeked of it.  He gagged on it, but could not escape, and forced himself to take in more of the wretched fumes, gulping furiously and feeling sick to his stomach as he tried in vain to fill his compressed lungs.

He could smell it clearly too, no doubt some of the more recently deceased were already rotting, the stale odor hung about thickly.

Oh, Ra… he was in a tomb.

He was still alive and yet buried…he was buried alive!

All reasoning left him in recognition; flabbergasted and unable to breath, his control vanished as well. 

He screamed.

The sheer pitch he reached somehow was so deafening, so piercing, and filled with such terrifying desperation as to shake the ceiling of the caverns.   He would have sworn even the foundations of the earth moved.  

That shriek…loud enough to wake the dead…but it didn't.

Surely, he thought, someone above had heard him; surely, someone, somewhere, somehow, would yet come to his rescue…

A tomb robber trapped in a gravesite…prematurely buried…

In addition, he had no tools with which to dig, no way to find if the entrance was left or right, up or down…

He forced himself to his crouch down as low as he could on his knees, the cavern itself being not quite large enough for a man to stand, rendering him cramped within the closely confined quarters.

He had to force himself to regulate his breathing to avoid hyperventilation, air was more precious than gold now…   

Bitterly closing his eyes, he felt along the roughened edges of granite walls with his bare hands, ignoring the various tiny scratches he received in turn.   

He shakily continued his search, occasionally slipping on the muck and grime that covered the floor as he made his way, slowly, around the outskirts of the burial chamber.  He looked for any sign of a manmade crack, or natural fissure, within the rock that reached through to the other side and would allow him to shout plainly for aid. 

He guided himself over to where he thought the entry opening must be located, most likely obstructed by a huge boulder.  

The longer he remained in here, the faster the walls closed in around him.   It seemed any minute now they would cave in…  He swore as he recognized the signs of claustrophobia gradually overtaking him…despite previous experience within such clogged places, he was still vulnerable.

Sweat poured down his frame, and he realized with the last of his analytical abilities, that at some point the temperature had risen.  From cool damp to an unbearable heat, the sun must have moved directly above him without his notice, indicating nearly half a day had passed since his awakening... 

"Help!" he hollered hoarsely, finally having found his raw voice again, as he ineffectively pushed against the entrance of his prison's hold, harder this time, with more diligence, more desperation; there just had to be a way out of here…

"Can anybody hear me?  Please help!" he yelled again shrilly, he screamed, he was practically begging now, for someone, anyone, to be there…for certainly, certainly not everyone had just _left_ him… there was always _someone_ near the graves... in case of thieves…

Eventually his strength gave out, as expected, he could never move a two-ton slab of sandstone on his own, and he collapsed, panting heavily against the cold floor.  

In the eerie silence, it was then he heard it and his eyes dilated in disbelief and shock, in absolute horror at the _prospect_ of…  

He felt it first, the vibrations of music causing everything to tremble slightly, then he could hear it too, the voices—_joyful voices_— rising up in rapture and praise.  It was the celebration of something…the war efforts perhaps, honoring the return home of men to their families.  

No, it was something else this time, something _very_ different…  

The styles of music used indicated something of _far_ more importance… there was singing and dancing, an extravagant event of sorts…they were paying tribute to… _something_…

What it was he could not say; after all, the major holidays had just ended not too long ago...  

The crowd—so impossibly far away, how could they sound so close?—cheered a name... a revered name, so strident with grandeur was it, so enthusiastic were they that it seemed to echo throughout the walls long after its completion...  

Whatever joy it held for them, had managed to seize his heart and stain it black with an ultimate anguish…

For the pharaoh… the _newest_ baby pharaoh was born _of this day_…

_Their_ leader, long awaited, _their_ _savior,_ as once predicted, was brought into this world on the day _he_ would…he was deemed to die…

Furthermore, everyone was _rejoicing _because of it.

The Tomb Robber shook with hysterics, throwing back his head and laughing at this wondrous joke, tears slowly traced their way down the dirt and filth on his cheeks. 

What a trick they chose to play on him!  Oh, what a marvelous prank it was indeed, able to torture him so!

Now, _no one_ would be able to hear him, and _no one_ would ever come.  He wanted to die then, but found to his consternation that he still could not.  

He was hungry; by Ra, he was so thirsty!  

Nevertheless, all he could do was sit there and listen, humming the tune once in awhile and… _listen_ to the people who, instead of rescuing him, turn around and praise their almighty one… their… their _God._

Wait…

The Gods… he had yet to beseech them…

Surely, surely, surely, without a doubt, surely… _they_ would help him escape; they would come to his salvation…at last, a hope…

Prayers, he said them all; millions of those he knew and some he made of his own accord…  The entreaties beseeched any God, all Gods and Goddesses, of the universe to hear his dispirited cry.  

He pleaded; begged, implored, and bargained with the imagined figures of deities… trying to find some way, anyway to convince that he _was_ worthy!  

Evidential years of dishonesty and a life of persecution were set against him…the feather of truth weighing heavily by his desolate heart on gold scales…but despite it all, he knew he didn't deserve such wrath…

He continued hoping against hope, expecting, anticipating, that somehow, someway still, they would remember and save him; that he would not become yet another utterly lost and forgotten soul…

Yet, when he finished out of breath…silence once again reined supreme, interrupted only by the sound of his rasping gasps…

It became apparent… they had either not heard or not bothered by what befell of him…

With no answer in return, he knew he—mind, body, and soul—was now broken.  

He accused, suspected, and cursed every one he ever knew of this treachery!  No longer did he look for a feasible explanation…no longer trying to rationalize… instead, he shouted out his hatred to the now and forever unseen heavens…

Nevertheless, with no avail… no one heard anyway...

They were all off, celebrating, feasting, and making merriment with others!  Giving away gifts and blessings freely, all of them…even the Gods had willing joined in the festivities he supposed…if they existed…

Oh, wasn't it a glorious day to be alive!

They never once minded for the tomb robber, alone and inane; he was where he belonged anyway, in an abandoned grave…

He wept openly, evermore shattered at the hands of their mockery.

Lost, cold, dark, and infinitely scared… all these served and described him well as he was huddled into himself; willingly entering into an open state of shock, giving into defeat within the barest grasps his nightmares…

Hope, just as the light, could not reach him now…

How _dare_ they take so much from him, after he had fought at stake, opposed to those monsters, to keep them safe!

How _dare_ they turn to their future pharaoh for deliverance and leave him behind!

How _dare_ they declare he got his own in the end because of his past and life!

He did _not_ deserve this, no matter what he had done in the precedent… 

He wanted _so_ dearly to destroy them all… to make _them_ experience the agony he had come so very closely to grasps with …

So thus the inevitable came.

Firstly, the denials and grief came and went.  Madness overtook him next.  Then an unquenchable desire for revenge swept through him, encompassing his being as a whole.  

Finally conquered, the tomb robber embraced them all without another thought.  

Though now finally dying, the flame of vengeful anger still burned deadly within him…and it was black.

Despairingly, he knew he could no longer endure this torture; it would _have_ to end soon, lest he would lose his grip on the essence of humanity.

He would never come to fully know and appreciate his retribution…

The darkness indeed consumed him fully now, however slow, and he eagerly welcomed …waiting...

_It_ was his salvation.  

Instead of fearing the dead around him as any mortal should, he embraced them, feeling their congratulatory praise, hearing the wailings and shrieks that bid him to come and join with them. 

That was it!

These were the bodies of _soldiers_ buried among him; and surely not _all _their weapons had been confiscated…perhaps just _one_ had been missed…

…and was still sharp.

He was beyond the morals of cowardice that thoughts of suicide usually inspired; instead, it beckoned to him with a satisfying promise…death, freedom, choosing...with no more limitations…

He was unafraid.

After all, he already knew well enough hell's depths by now.

Forcing himself erect, he licked his tongue across dried and cracked lips in expectancy, reveling in the slight stinging sensation caused.

Soon then, it would be _very_ soon…

His aching body lurched forward; the pain had grown _much_ direr for some reason, ever since he had first started self-inflicting abrasions across his own flesh in fact…

It was _supposed_ to have kept him on the verge of sanity, why he had ever wanted to remain _there_ was a complete mystery to him at present… 

He vigorously began to sort through the myriad of stiff cadavers, making sure to probe each one with meticulous care before moving on to the next.  One after another, he progressed, not once letting up in his eager pursuit.  

He could not for the life of him distinguish where his temporary renewal of strength came from, but that was unimportant now. 

Somehow, he just _knew_ that if he searched long enough, hard enough, he would find what he was after…

It was this knowledge that drove him, as he tore apart flesh and clothing alike with undying persistence; and then, indeed, there it was.

At last, he had found it…a way out.

A single dagger driven into another's heart remained undisturbed by anyone until now.

It may have taken this man's life but to him it symbolized one small mercy…

Removing it carefully, he fingered the hilt; years of experience in thievery told him despite the surrounding darkness and loss of eyesight that it was a fine jewel encrusted blade.  Finding a perfect fit in his grip, he tested it easily against his own skin, discovering it was definitely still sharp as the day it was forged; the blood caked around had not yet rusted it… quite well made to be sure.  

Even the weight balance was just right for him, as though intended to fulfill this purpose from the day of its creation… 

Finally, after all, an escape, a harsh relief, but still a triumphant liberty… all would be his in death…

He knew the consequences of taking one's own life, the supposed condemnation, a world of suffering his conviction, but he also understood that even the fires of the underworld bestowed light…he would see again.

His only bitter regret was that he could not make the pharaoh suffer as much as he had…

With that, he thrust the knife deeply into his heart, finding such an emotional burden would serve no purpose where he was going.

In fact, he pleasured in every minute of destroying himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere within the Hall of Kings, the Item, which would one day rightfully bear the name 'Sennen Ring', began to glow.

The tomb robber did indeed see the light, but only for a brief instant as he separated, before the darkness snatched him back, refusing to relinquish its hold over him just yet... or ever again. 

His imprisonment was not over.

His last howl of anguish awoke the sleeping infant-boy, who would, one day, bear the name of pharaoh as prophesized, and he immediately began to cry for the first, last, and only instance in his lifetime…


	3. End

_"We know of nothing so agonizing upon Earth—_

_We can dream of nothing half so hideous in the realms of the nethermost Hell.  _

_And thus, all narratives upon this topic have an interest profound;_

_ An interest, nevertheless, which, through the sacred awe of the topic itself, _

_Very properly and very peculiarly depends upon our conviction of the truth of the matter narrated."_

Ryou had sobbed continually throughout the entire story, and he remained doing so long after the tale finished.

Bakura's grip on him tightened reflexively, to the point of almost unbearable.

He had stayed relatively impassive on the outside, allowing his Hikari speak to his heart's content, forcing himself to appear quiet and thoughtful for Ryou, knowing if he interrupted he would never go on, but inside…he was seething. 

The story—_his_ past—was just as Ryou had described it, and so much more... 

Nevertheless, how—no, how was not the important…_why_—yes, _why_ had his Hikari known? 

Looking down at the shaking form huddled in his lap, he could not help, overwhelmed with anger and aggravation as he was, to growl his frustrations within: 

What _right_ did the Gods have to do that to _him_? 

What _reason_ did the Gods have to torture them _both_? 

Whatever happened to _his_ so-called 'God-given life'?

This was blasphemy!

Above all, he wondered, mentally groaning in defeat…  _When would it end?_

This was not tolerable; he could not just _ignore_ the facts... no matter how much he wished it would all just _go away_…

He could _never_ _possibly_ come to understand why _Ryou, _of _all_ people, must suffer.  

The Gods did whatever they wanted to him, that was just fine, he was beyond caring about _that_ anymore, he could just rain down vengeance on the people who hurt him later…

However, to bring his Hikari into it…sweet, little innocent Ryou—and no matter _how much_ he despised him—this was just cruel somehow… and inexcusably _wrong_…

Bakura had been a thief and murderer long before his so-called 'demise' in that tomb.  He had known well what awaited him at the gate of judgment, could have guessed what his fate would be, though nothing as dismal as what it was…

Nonetheless, Ryou, his _light_, had never hurt anyone_…_ _ever!_ 

Furthermore, he was _incapable_ of hurting anyone. 

He was laughter, love, loyalty… everything Bakura was not…cannot…

The way he pressed his quivering form against Bakura, seeking warmth, safety, and sanctuary… things the Tomb Robber could never _possibly_ be able to provide…emotions he was _incapable_ of…

Yet, here he remained… unmoving…by his side…

He _trusted _in _him_, despite his being a liar and a thief... handed his life over to him.  He expected to find _comfort_ and _security_ from the Yami... because that is what Yami's are supposed to do…

He had gone to no one else first; sure somehow, that Bakura would be able drive away his worse fears…  _Bakura_, was he not the 5,000-year-old tormenter who pleasured seeing others in pain while delighting in his?

Yet Ryou had put complete confidence and faith in him.

Why did Ryou have to endure this torment?

Why did Ryou have to take a part in suffering that was never his?

Could they not see he was innocent? 

He froze.

What would become of Ryou if his nightmares continued?  What more could he learn…?

This had been bad enough, but if his Hikari had to bear witness to _other_ scenes in his past… 

Bakura shuddered to think what would come from _that_ knowledge.

Heart-wrenching brutality could not even _begin_ to describe this atrocity…

_He was supposed to rise as far as Bakura had fallen… _

He had to be able to counter the darkness within his other half, to drive back the madness and the fear from both their lives…

Now though, now it was as though _Ryou_ faced the risk of abandonment as well.

With all he had seen, with all still to come, how could he escape the same dark fate?

"I hate them," Ryou whispered below him suddenly, as if in agreement to his rage. 

Taking in another deep breath to steady himself, he continued murmuring softly, yet distinctly passionate…hatred arising to previously unperceived levels within him, "I hate them all, _loathe_ them all, the pharaoh, his people, and my so-called '_friends'_… how could they do this to you?  How could they all just…just _forget_?  Damn them; damn them all to Hell and back…" 

He closed his eyes despairingly, pained, and not quite believing what he was saying…yet not denying it either.  He did not want to see the world anymore either; he was just so cold...

He was so scared…

"No," Bakura growled forcefully, commanding him, barely restraining himself from trying to shake his Hikari senseless.  

He was _not_ going to stand by and watch this happen a second time; he was _not_ going to let them win this time... especially when his_ light_ –once again—was the one at stake…

He flipped Ryou over beneath him in a swift movement, effectively pinning him still with his weight.  Keeping his Hikari's arms tucked to their side, he forced their eyes to meet across the mere inches separating them.

That was _far_ too high a price to pay…

…and he would _not _yield it!

Ryou swallowed hard, trying to look the other way; wanting to look anywhere, at anything, but Bakura's steely crimson orbs…like the blood that had bathed them both…  

He found himself trapped though. 

Somehow, amidst the confusion that besieged him, he instinctively fell under the hypnotic enchantment of his Yami's gaze, compelling him dazedly to listen to every word that left Bakura's lips...

The spirit's eyes narrowed dangerously as he finally made his decision in contempt…

_Ryou was_ _his!_

"I will not allow that Yadounshi," he enunciated every syllable severely, effectively ignoring the onslaught of protests.

"Listen carefully, you are _not_ me," he continued firmly; holding such astonishing assurance in his words as to make Ryou certain everything said was truth…

"And what happened 5,000 years ago; _happened 5,000 years ago!  _I will _not_ let it corrupt our future.  I will _not_ permit it a hold in our lives.  No longer, no more…for to do so would be as surrendering ourselves, which in turn would serve only to condemn us eternally to that fate.  My fate, your fate…_our fate_ is mine!  I will _not_ let them win like that Hikari; I will _not_ _give in_ _again_!"   

The last words he ended up shouting in fury, compulsively tensing his grip on Ryou's forearms.  He only paused when he heard the hiss of a pained groan emerge from deep within his Hikari. 

He peered down, eyes narrowing, and immediately confirmed his suspicions; he silently cursed himself for missing it before.

Ryou, his brave—and quite strong—Hikari it seemed, from the grimace that flashed across his features, had determinedly kept something from him.

Grabbing the arm that rested nearest him, he pointedly ignored the frightened yelp startled out of Ryou and tore off the first layer.  

Concentrating hard, and not deterred in the least by his Hikari's stuttered objecting squawks, Bakura rolled back the sleeve to reveal numerous previously hidden scratches…

That closely resembled cuts he had inflicted on himself those thousands of years ago…

Bakura looked up, for once in apparent confusion, while Ryou just bowed his head in shame...  

The nicks and bruises had indeed come from the nightmare, not his own doing… but he had not wanted to distress his Yami further with their appearance. 

He had caused Bakura to go through enough pain for one night…

The lacerations were enough to agonize, but not enough to place him in any real danger of blood loss anyways…he thought.

Bakura, strangely enough, was not at all mad at Ryou's attempts of hiding his injuries.

"And neither will you," he acknowledged perceptively, face still relatively unreceptive but hinting at pride with the barest trace of a smirk.

Expressionless, he ran his fingers once more knowingly through his Hikari's soft snowy-white hair; Ryou, still pinned beneath him, shivered unknowingly at his touch.   

Bakura himself did not know why he did it exactly— was it out of impulse?  Had Ryou's soul called to his own in that decisive moment?—He was not sure.  

He just realized then how he could get through to his Hikari; and that was that.

Thus, without warning given or explanation attempted, he solemnly proceeded to unbutton the top of his light's pajama shirt, maintaining eye contact.

Ryou watched him, incredulous at his Yami's actions thus far and simply too stunned to protest or question.  Strangely, the thought of him inflicting bodily harm never even occurred within his thoughts tonight. 

With his chest finally revealed bare, Bakura let go of all the weight he had previously supported on his elbows, falling gently and landing atop of Ryou, head coming to rest on his shoulder.  He seemed to relax instantly within the close proximity.   

Ryou lost himself to fascination, utterly swept away in the foreign sensations.   

Closing his eyes, he felt it first, skin against silky smooth skin, the friction between creating fire against blaze.  His nerves tingled with pleasure as warmth immediately engulfed him, different from the iciness of the grave, so very sought after... and finally found.    

Hesitantly he brought his freed arms to encircle Bakura and stroke his back softly, giving as well as receiving solace.  At the same time, he could not help but marvel at the contours felt between the shoulder blades, the muscles in well sculpted arms that rippled lightly beneath his touch. 

Bakura's heated breath puffed across the sensitive skin at the base of Ryou's neck; disquieting him to inhale quickly.  

Doing so, he caught a faint trace of Bakura's scent in his silvery locks, and he unconsciously nestled deeper.  Not a trace of rotting flesh here thank goodness, it was strangely pure… with an aroma of ancient myrrh—a bitter perfume—along with the archaic fragrance of frankincense; both blended together with the smell of the freshest rain in the driest desert… entirely too addictive...

His grip on his other constricted irrationally as his tears slowed, and then came to a stop.

Bakura waited a few moments more before slowly pulling back, indicating with a shake of his head that he was not leaving him, not yet…

Without another word, he reached down to take Ryou's hand in his and brought it to rest on his chest directly over his supposed 'heart', not once removing his eyes from his Hikari's. 

Ryou shivered, he remembered all too clearly that dagger being plunged into Bakura on his accord, the blood, his own blood, staining his hands red...

Bakura enfolded Ryou's other hand and clutched it evenly to bring him back from his thoughts, before firmly laying it over Ryou's own heart.  He knew all to well what memories his actions had provoked, and that is why it was imperative for his Hikari to see for himself…to realize that…

Ryou splayed his fingers wide, letting both his palms rest flatly against their chests.

Tearing his eyes away, he looked down in wonderment; it had taken him but a moment to be aware of the feel…

Their hearts—their racing-thrums—were doing so within the same rhythm.

They beat as one… always within unison.

He looked up to his Yami in question…

"_We still exist_…," Bakura whispered fiercely by declaration.

Then Ryou finally understood.

They shared in one source, life energy and souls forever intertwined.__

Moreover, he was _alive_… they both were; and so they would remain until one ceased to exist…then, and only then, the other would too.

A slight smile played at the corner of his lips as he nodded to show his understanding.

Bakura looked back down and traced with concern the outlines of a cross-shaped gash on Ryou's chest, then another similar one not far.  He looked troubled about something; but Ryou was patient.

"I caused this," he whispered at last, his expression stricken, "and I apologize."

It was Bakura's turn to be unwilling to face his other half.

_"I have no name in the regions which I inhabit.  _

_I was mortal, but am fiend.  _

_I was merciless, but am pitiful _

_…I cannot rest for the cry of these great agonies.  _

_Is not this a spectacle of woe?  Behold! _

_ …O, God, is it not a pitiful sight?  _

_…What avails the vigilance against the Destiny of man?  _

_…There was something at my heart which whispered me it was sure.  _

_ …And now, amid all my infinite miseries, came sweetly the cherub Hope…"_

"Why should you?"  Ryou asked, honestly bewildered, "What are you apologizing for Yami?  _I'm_ the one who should be begging forgiveness right about now."

Ryou was suddenly feeling so decidedly guilty about causing this all, and he felt he should further explain himself before…

Therefore, he continued, whispering softly, "_I_ brought this back tonight, Yami…I…  _I_ was the one who rushed in here…without thinking…I'm sorry…It's just…  I was _terrified_…  I should never have come, I know…  I should _never_ have reminded you about…  Just please forgive me…for once…It's… it's my fault…not yours… never yours…" 

He had tearfully stammered through practically the whole speech in his haste to assure Bakura he had done nothing wrong; but the last few words he had mumbled even softer, for they were directed more to himself, in wonderment, than at his other.

Bakura, however, heard and was taken aback; it was _never _his fault?  Just how long had his Hikari been blaming himself for _his_ actions? 

Moreover, he had _apologized_ for needing him…

"But please don't leave Yami, I'd be terribly lonely without you," Ryou added quickly, taking his silence for rejection. 

He knew it was true… 

His father was never home anymore and his mother—his mother had died long ago when he was young in a car crash, with his sister—that was part of the reason for his father's absence…Ryou reminded him of his dead family. 

Before he met Bakura, he never had any friends; and even though he now somewhat had the Yugi-tachi, the house would feel unbearably abandoned without his Yami to share it with.

He never knew why his Yami had decided to stay after he gained a body of his own, but he had welcomed it, and if he chose to leave now, because of him…

"I'm not leaving Hikari," Bakura whispered hesitantly in his ear as reassurance… _not now, not ever._

Silence pervaded after that, but Ryou was not yet finished.

"Why do you need the rest of the Millennium Items?" he questioned wistfully.  "Why can't we put all that behind us?  Start over?"

Bakura was quiet for a long time before answering.  He removed himself from on top of Ryou and back to a sitting position.  Ryou too propped himself up next to his Yami and waited.

Finally, he answered, staring out into oblivion as though it held all the secret answers.

"I cannot change who I am or what my fate is Yadounshi."  He chuckled wryly to himself as he went on, "However, I can assure you that I will have my revenge."

Bakura never gave him the chance to ask…

"Do not try to abolish my hate, Yadounshi; it is all I have left now.  That evil _is_ me; it's what I've become, it's what I am…_I am the darkness_," Bakura strained the statement sternly, directly meeting Ryou's eyes this time.  "I have a duty to perform, you know that now."

Ryou attempted a lope-sided grin but gave up quickly.  Instead, he brushed his knuckles tenderly against the silkiness of Bakura's cheek, not quite willing to give up the contact just yet.  __

"I do, and I won't interfere again," the tone was one of resignation, along with a slight sigh escaping his lips, startling Bakura.

Refusal he had been expecting, acceptance he had not foreseen…  He could never willingly believe his other half would give in so easily, and he was right, as Ryou seemed to be searching for something more…

"But what if I could offer you something more?"  Ryou inquired solemnly, gazing into Bakura's eyes as though they were windows…

His Yami's eyebrows drew together in his apparent confusion, even as he unconsciously leaned in towards Ryou's caress.

"Mou hitori no boku, what if I replaced your hatred, your sorrow, and your torment, with something else, something _better_…and I could too. After all I _am_ still your light…I have power too…" he whispered the words fervently, yet brokenly, as though wanting to believe them himself.

Bakura just shook his head in denial, refusing the words.

For a brief instant, Ryou thought he saw a look of regret appear while the former tomb robber drew back inside himself, pushing Ryou's hand away forcefully; in a flash though, it vanished, as though never existing.

"Not possible," he stated flatly. 

He simply acknowledged facts instead of faith, as he had always done before.  

Ryou just continued smiling sadly.  He was entirely too stubborn for his own good.

No matter how long it took, he secretly promised to himself, someday he _would_ stop Bakura's rampage. 

It was in that moment Ryou decided his fate; he permitted himself to be the one to bring about change; it was _his_ duty now, being the lighter of the pair, after all…

He then discovered his purpose.

Bakura had no idea that his Hikari planned differently.  His yami just looked at him strangely, though Ryou was certain he could not hear any of his thoughts.

Suddenly it dawned on Ryou that the space between them had grown much larger. 

With a start, he realized that whatever had passed between them tonight was over and that Bakura expected him to leave, be gone and forget everything by morning. 

He must _never_—under any circumstances given—mention this again, to _anyone_.

The thought was upsetting; it meant he would have to sleep alone again tonight, with nothing but his haunted nightmares to keep him company.

He knew it would come to this eventually but now that the time was actually here…

He looked back down the somber hallway, the shadows playing forebodingly off reflected angles, which lead to his bedroom and voiced his fears.

"Do I really have to go?"

With no answer returned, he sighed and bit back on a sudden lump of tension forming in his throat. 

Careful not to look behind at his Yami, he slid off the bed, the floor feeling decidedly rigid and cold beneath his bare feet.  He grabbed his shirt and departed in the direction of his room, secretly knowing there would be no rest for him there. 

He had not gotten halfway to the door though before a gruff voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You can stay… if you want," the tone sounded stiff and edgy, but the invitation was there all the same.

He looked back, surprised and hopeful, only to see Bakura had turned his face away from him, lying on his side towards the opposite wall.

He bit his lip, somewhat indecisive, as he looked between the door and the bed; he knew there would be no turning back once he decided on which.

With the first and truest smile that night, he hung his shirt gently over the backing of a nearby chair, and crawled back into bed with his other half. 

Cautiously he shifted closer and repositioned himself against his Yami's back.  When Bakura failed to protest, he got even braver, slinging an arm around to rest loosely across his other half's midsection. 

He buried them both securely under the covers, sighing in content at the warmth radiated between them.  Being sure to wait until his Yami was again fast asleep; he impulsively kissed Bakura once softly on the shoulder.  Then he himself reached for the best of his dreams; safe from the despair being unable to touch him there.

Before drifting off to sleep though, he convinced himself that somehow he _would_ find a way, even _if_ Tomb Robber's never abide by something as menial as a promise. 

The Night looked on with little more than indifference; after all, she had seen such forbidden many times before… well, perhaps a touch of disgust… for why had the Dark One given in to his Light so soon?

"Whatcha doing?"

Night blinked, startled, as she slowly realized that Day had crept up on her again.  She wrinkled her nose at him with displeasure, but he just smiled back and kissed her chastely on the cheek with a greeted "Good Morning."

"Leave me alone," she attempted to draw back into the shadows… he always acted so odd during the dawn and in the evenings, when they could actually see each other… 

She just never could figure out _why_ though…

"Haven't you learned anything tonight?"  He sighed lightly with a false pout for a moment, before giving up and laughing at… something..._again_.  Always sunny, always cheerful, how annoying could you get?

She struggled as he pulled her closer.  "What do you …?"  She started to ask suspiciously but was cut off when he kissed her once more, this one landing smack straight on the lips.

Flustered, she glared darkly at him before fleeing to the other side of the world.

He yawned brightly, before turning and beaming in the general direction of the bed.

"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us little one… agreed?"

_"The tortures endured—_

_They were inconceivably hideous; but out of Evil proceeded Good…  _

_My soul acquired tone—acquired temper…  _

_I breathed the free air of Heaven…  _

_In short, I became a new man, and lived a man's life.  _

_From that memorable night, I dismissed forever my charnel apprehensions…  _

_There are moments when, even to the sober eye of Reason, the world of our sad Humanity may assume the semblance of a Hell…  _

_They must sleep, or they will devour us—_

_They must be suffered to slumber, or we perish."_

AN:  Well, I am very glad I finally finished this…while avoiding all the rest of my duties that need doing.  Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed!  Yes, I know it's a bit long, and this in no way reflects the past or the storyline of YuGiOh!  I just loved this theme is all, and it worked so well for Bakura that I just had to share!  Love and peace for all!  (I achieved 10,550 words writing this, yay!)


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